Smile for the Living and Drink for the Dead
by Gloria Patri
Summary: He was a wonderful man. Young and full of life and why the HELL did he have to shove a bullet in his head? A lot of people suffer the loss of a loved one. A few mourn a coworker and friend. One loses something else completely. House acts decent? SPOILER.


**Summary: **He was a wonderful man. Young and full of life and wy the HELL did he have to shove a bullet in his head! A lot of people suffer the loss of a loved one. A few mourn a coworker and friend. One loses something else completely. House acts decent? SPOILERS.

_Written in 3rd person. Replace the name with whatever you want. Anneliese just sounded nice. Post-Simple Explanation. That episode has to be the suckiest one ever after the one where Amber dies. For the love of god..._

_Well anyways. Hope you enjoy. :)_

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Even I hadn't seen the signs of it. It shocked me just as it did everyone else. Well, no. That wasn't fair. No one was as shocked as his parents. They'd gotten the worst of it. They'd lost a son that was barely even theirs to begin with. I wasn't sure why, but I felt like this has been a double death for them. The death of a dream and the death of at least half their hearts. It was horrible, just looking at them. I couldn't look t the chimney, the smoke in the sky. I felt myself gag. I should have been stronger. I could almost hear him tease me for my weak stomach. He'd always... he'd always done that.

"Foreman. Fore... Come on, Eric. Let's go." I heard somewhere behind me. I recognized the voices. They, like many others, had apologized for the loss. The woman though--Miss Hadley if I remember it right--had seemed particularly affected. It looked like her son had died, too. Or maybe her brother. She was much too young to have any children of her own. At least, I assumed she was. You never know.

"Anneliese," Mrs Kutner called to my left. I felt her cold, shaking hand rest on my shoulder. "you should go home. We can take care of things now." Her voice cracked. I didn't look up. I knew she was crying. Mr Kutner encouraged me to go home as well. Aware that my face looked like New Orleans after Katrina, I nodded with a light smile, saying that yeah, if I don't sleep soon I'll probably die before my...

But I didn't finish the sentence, or even the thought. The pain, the anxiety, had closed up my throat. I knew I was breathing--after all, if my standing there alive was any indication, I must have been able to breathe. But I couldn't feel my lungs absorbing any air at all. I felt like I was choking. I wanted to choke. But my body refused to let me live out my delusions. I walked away from the thinning crowd and stepped up to my car. I can't remember when I turned the key, when the engine purred to life or how I got out and onto the highway. I just know that after a while of driving, I had to pull over. No one should have been allowed to drive in the condition I had been in, much less the one I was suddenly shoved into. My chest felt like it was being crushed, slowly, under tons of bricks and cars and buildings. It wasn't searing, it was a dull, throbbing pain that would never be explained other than because I was going through a breakdown. I didn't have it in my to cut the engine, I didn't have it in my to do anything at all.

All I could do was sit there, on the side of the road, screaming or crying or sobbing or choking, I don't know and I don't remember. I let everything pour out and splatter on the windshield, drowning in whatever was rushing out of me in torrential waves. I remembered when we first met, as kids, how I thought he was joking when he'd said his parents died, how much I idolized him... Where had my hero gone? Where was my big brother now? Why had God taken him away like that? What REASON did he have to leave me alone like that?!

I screamed at no one and at the world and at the passing cars. No one should be allowed to be happy. The world shouldn't be allowed to keep turning. Everyone should feel this pain, the reminder that he was there and he was REAL. I remember letting out a bark of laughter. I had just thought that half the world should die. So people can feel the pain. But, after a second of reflexion, I knew that was a stupid and selfish idea. No one should be allowed to feel this pain. The people who were suffering were already too numerous. I was more than ready to accept the burden of their pain, to liberate them from it. I knew I was never going to be alive after this, so, I figured, why not add a few nails to the coffin? Why not dig my grave a little deeper?

After that is when I came home. Where I am now. In the apartment adjacent to Lawrence's. I still can't really grasp the concept that he's gone. I know I'm in the denial phase right now. I didn't think I'd skipp the first step so quickly. I guess that episode on the highway cleared it. Nevertheless, I still feel like, if I knock on the wall, someone's going to knock back. And I'm tempted to try, but I don't want to give myself any more reasons to cry more than I already have. But I'm not too sure which is more painful though. Depriving myself of that one last knock--would I be able to say 'Good bye' in Morse code?--or knocking and getting nothing in return?

I'm tired. I get up and head to my door, and I let my hand linger there for a while.

"This is a bad idea, Anne." I mutter to myself, but I completely disregard my own warning and twist the knob. It's late. Probably past midnight. It's not even raining outside; it would be too perfect if it was. Life doesn't like me. It doesn't want me to have perfect settings.

I'm ready to play with the lock, but I find that the door's already unlocked. I figured the man who was here earlier today was some guy from some cleaning crew. I guess not. I open the door. Push it open slowly. It looks just like the way I saw it five days earlier, when I left town. It smells the same, looks the same, and it even feels the same--until I realize that I'm there BECAUSE he's not here. Not anymore. I wander around the house, hovering around pictures and cups and plates. Pictures are spread all over the coffee table in the living room. I figure that's what the guy was looking for, the one that was here this morning. I walk to his room. I don't even gag. I just start crying. I feel the tears welling up in my eyes and I notice my vision's blurry and--not so much anymore. The tears have started rolling. I let myself fall to my knees. My leg's can't support me anymore. There's no one to keep me up. The blood stain on the floor reminds me that I'm not dreaming. I let myself lie down beside it. Imagining him there, whispering his goodbyes, and trying to imagine myself dying with him. Like if we'd had a pact. That would've been perfect. Perfect...

"You're an idiot." I whisper, over and over again. I barely notice the creaking of the wood behind me. I wonder if it's a murderer. I won't yell though. I want to die. I wish I could. But instead, I just hear a gruff voice.

"You should get up." he says--because no woman would ever be able to have a voice like that. "Quit being stupid and get up already."

I'm not sure why he sounds so upset. But maybe I haven't answered, maybe I'm still whispering how big of an idiot Lawrence is, and maybe I lost track of time and maybe I still haven't answered, after all.

"Get the fuck out." I growl, and I'm not too sure why. But before I can make sense of my reaction, the man pulls on my arm roughly. (I can already feel the bruises.)

"You're coming with me. You're legal, right?"

But I'm wearing pajamas, I think, and I can't believe this guy's taking me out for a drink. Of all things, getting drunk is the last one on my list. It's like he felt my unease.

"So you're twenty six."

I don't know how he knows. Maybe this time I really have answered without really knowing. I nod. For some reason, I can't find myself to care about what I'm wearing anymore.

"Who the... Who are you anyways?" I ask, and I laugh at myself out loud. My voice sounds so pathetic right now, it's insane. I can hear Lawrence laughing too. I imagine he'd like to have a drink with us, if he was here.

"The pope. How about you?" the man asks, and I can't bother finding a decent answer. I just blut the first thing that comes to mind.

"I'm Kutner's estranged wife. He has three other wives and a couple kids I'm not supposed to know about." I mutter, with a vague smirk, and I wonder how it is I'm not crying yet. And how I can act so happily drunk when I'm sober and when my world's supposed to have stopped spinning. My mind stops for a minute, and I find myself thinking about what it's like, being Lawrence's wife. It must be fun. All the sleeping-in and the doctor stories and the--  
I stop thinking. I'm still wondering why I haven't cried yet.

"Cool. Even dead this kid's got so many deep dark secrets I don't know about."

I choke a sob. I must have been holding onto it for a while now.

"Anneliese. My name's Anneliese." I say, suddenly remembering I haven't even said my name.

"House."

I smile.

I don't know this man, but I know he knew Lawrence. House... It rings a bell. I think it's that doctor he worked for(I won't dare speak of him in the past tense for at least a year).

"It's nice of you to show that side to a total stranger. I admire that." I said, not entirely sure how it is my vocal chords managed to bypass the thought process.

"No clue what you're talking about." He says, but I know he knows, because as soon as he says that his face stones over and it's like he's put on a mask. I can't help but laughing.

Who knows? Maybe Lawrence would want me to smile and be happy and have fun, rather than cry over his... ashes, forever and ever amen. I smile. I know he's smiling too. I bet he knows what I just decided. And then something hits me.

"...I don't have any shoes."


End file.
